


Just Another Lunch Date

by Tish



Category: Fake News FPF
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2015-10-24
Packaged: 2018-04-27 21:32:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5065012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tish/pseuds/Tish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Friends and lovers, an office guest or two, and some trivia. Just another typical lunch date.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Another Lunch Date

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Calliatra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calliatra/gifts).



Jon had barely stepped inside the room when he was tackled into a warm and loving embrace. “Uh, hi Stephen!” He slipped into the hug and closed his eyes happily.

Stephen paused from kissing Jon's hair and said, “Jon! You smell like cinnamon. I could just eat you whole. I've missed you!”

“You've missed me since we talked on the phone? That's sweet, but a little disturbing.” Jon finally broke free from Stephen's hug and sat down on the couch.

Stephen settled down next to him and was about to reply, but jolted away. “The hell?” He reached down between the seat cushions and held up an egg.

“Did you lay that, Stephen?” Jon stifled a giggle. “Making your own lunch?”

Stephen clutched it carefully. “It's still warm. I wonder if it'll hatch?”

They stared at each other for a moment, before turning as a slight scratching sound started coming from behind Stephen's desk.

Jon pointed. “Um, I hope that's not one of your interns.”

Stephen frowned as a chicken strolled out into the middle of the room. “My interns don't lay eggs, Jon. There's no college credit for that skill set.”

"You starting up a farm, then?” Jon softly clicked his fingers at the chicken.

“Jon, it's not a dog, they don't come when you call them.” Stephen stared down the chicken, but it seemed distinctly uninterested in a contest of wills.

 

Jon sidled up to Stephen and breathed in his ear, “I know someone who comes when I call them.”

A slight blush crept over Stephen's face. “I can't help it if you're so sexy. Entrapping me with that husky voice, those eyes.”

Jon snaked his arms around Stephen's waist. “Entrapping you, huh? Sounds dangerous. You might get out Aragon's sword and use it against me.”

Stephen cuddled against him, eyes bright with passion. “Jon, Andúril will always be at your service. I would let you handle it any time you wish.”

“It's a very big sword, Stephen. I'd need a hand with it.” Jon smirked, wondering if Stephen was actually joining in the innuendo, or was totally oblivious. 

Stephen murmured a sigh and nodded. “Yes, and with your frail wrists, too.”

Jon couldn't contain his giggles and managed to reply, “I actually have a great deal of wrist strength, Stephen. Decades of practice, in fact.”

“That chicken's still here. I wonder what it wants?” Stephen fidgeted slightly.

“Maybe she wants her egg back?” Jon mused.

Stephen looked down. “Oh, right. I kept it warm. There you go, ma'am.” He held out the egg and waited expectantly.

“Uh, she doesn't have hands to hold it. Does she have a box or something?” Jon looked around the room.

“Like an egg carton?” Stephen cradled the egg gently.

“A carrier for the chicken, Stephen. I assume she's for a bit on the show, and not like a free-range office chicken.” Jon chuckled as he reached out to pet her.

“We have a couple of office dogs, and half my staff are hipsters, it figures they'd have a pet chicken or something. I'm surprised she's not dressed in plaid. Only one of them actually wears what passes for a suit but he dresses like a colour-blind Willy Wonker, you know.” Stephen cast a certain derisive look in the general direction of his writers' room.

Jon rocked in silent laughter as he nodded. “Oh, yeah, that guy.”

 

A polite cough and a knock from the doorway drew their attention away from hipster fashions as Jay the intern stood there nervously. “Stephen, we need the chicken to rehearse this bit.”

Stephen held out the egg. “Take chicken jnr., too. I felt it moving before.”

Jay carefully scooped it up. “Good thing it didn't hatch, it would have imprinted on you!” He gently placed it upon some straw in the carrier and slowly picked the chicken up. “That's a girl!”

Jon smiled. “Nice chicken wrangling, Jay. Have fun with the bit.”

“Thanks Mr. Stewart. Hope you have fun watching.” Jay happily went away at Stephen's nod of dismissal.

 

Alone again, Jon turned to face Stephen. “He's a nice kid.”

Stephen's eyebrow was set at annoyance. “Jon, we won't have _fun_ with _the bit_. I'm a serious pundit, it'll be a trenchant and damning condemnation of,” he paused before continuing, “...of liberals. Or gays. Or gay liberal chickens.” He waved his hand to shoo away the fact he didn't know what the hell the chicken bit involved.

 

Jon couldn't keep the grin from his face as he shifted back to snuggle Stephen. “Now, back to that sword.”

Stephen's eyes brightened. “Yes!” He leapt up to grab Andúril and brought it back to Jon. “Feel the weight of it. Feels good, right? It was re-forged from the shards of Narsil. Look at the runes.” He tilted the sword and gazed lovingly into Jon's eyes as he whispered, “Anar. Nányë Andúril I né Narsil i macil Elendilo. Lercuvantan i móli Mordórëo. Isil.”

 

Jon had a moment of terror at unleashing Stephen on his precious, but he smiled back and simply nodded. “I love you, too, Stephen.”

He settled into Stephen's arms and listened all afternoon, each blissful in each others' company.


End file.
